I am standing five stories up, on the roof of a towering kasbah that belonged to the most infamous family in all of Morocco. I had no idea this place existed just twenty minutes ago. Wind whistles past my ears while a flock of doves, spooked by our unlikely presence, circumnavigate the crumbling adobe turret to my left. A sea of lesser adobe buildings stretches out before me.
The kasbah is positioned on a hill, lofted up from the riverbed, in the center of my site, and overlooks the entire region. This spot is the highest point for miles around. I follow the path of the river down the valley with my eyes, and clearly see a town I know to be 36k away. The fields on each side of the river, which were grey and dying from winter's chill just a week before, now appear overstuffed and fluffy with an abundance of white almond tree blossoms. I glance at my friend, who is visiting my site for a few days to do a training. We express without words that this unexpected event is truly mind-blowing and unforgettable. As I slowly rotate, taking in the whole experience, I think to myself, "How did I get here"?
A few hours before, I had left my house hoping to find a Moroccan friend who works at the cyber. A week before, I had complimented him on the photos he was using to make a video montage. He told me he had taken the pictures at a nearby kasbah, and suggested that we go sometime. Today I had hoped to take him up on his offer. I ran into him near the main road about halfway to the cyber, and asked if he had time to show me and my friends the kasbah. He said yes, and told us to continue on to the cyber where he would meet us shortly. When he arrived at the cyber, we were all easily sidetracked by another cyber employee playing an online Arabic version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire". For a while, the five of us -- three American PCVs and two young educated Moroccans -- made an unlikely, but effective team. They would read the questions in Standard Arabic, translate them for us into a mix of Moroccan Arabic, TashlHite and what little English they knew; at which point we would all pool our collective knowledge until an answer was chosen. After about a half an hour of this; satisfied with winning a $64,000 prize, we walked out of the cyber towards the yet unknown kasbah.
We took the scenic route through the fields, and stopped first at an attractive area with a patch of grass, a flowing brook, and grove of Aspen trees. From there, we walked down the riverbed until we were standing just below the kasbah; its massive mud walls soaring overhead. This is when our Moroccan friend floored us with the historical significance of the structure.
"Do you know who lived here?, he said. "The Glaoui family. Do you know about them"? Our jaws dropped. He continued, "It used to be a prison, and they lived here too". As we ascended the steep road, curving along the base of the tall outer walls, he pointed us to the large door which led to the jail section. We slipped into the dark cells just long enough to discover that this was not a fun place to be locked up, and got back on the road towards the main entrance.
The "Glaoui", were a family of Berber warlords who controlled the south of Morocco with an iron fist. Known for their brutality, they commonly tortured, murdered, and imprisoned their opposition. Supported by the occupying French, who needed assistance in oppressing the defiant southern Berber tribes, the Glaoui family maintained their fierce control of the area through a system of fear and unregulated taxes (mandatory gifts for the populous).
Their wealth is reflected in the stature of the kasbah. We had toured the modern annex first. Plaster and lavish paintwork; a strange architectural style -- Berber and French design struggling to coexist -- mirroring the political state of Morocco when this house was built. Of course, we now know that both sides lost. The paint of an extravagant archway had been marked with a completion date-- 1390 on the Muslim calander, we decide must have been around 1938. Our Moroccan friend informs us that the house was finally abandoned in the 70's. The painted walls are marred and cracked where looters have stolen wiring. A large hole in the floor near the entryway has fallen in, exposing the empty prison cells below. Somehow, a bathtub is still intact in the center of an empty tiled bathroom.
We edged past the hole in the ground and made our way to the original adobe section of the kasbah. The first floor is dark and hard to navigate, save a spot of sun, shining down through a central column. The stairs spiral up one of the turrets allowing access to each of four floors before reaching the top. The floors are built around a hollow, square-shaped column that extends the entire height of the kasbah. On each floor, huge keyhole-shaped windows have been sculpted into the four walls of the central column to let in light. On the third floor, we took turns standing in the keyholes to get our new favorite self-portraits. On the final flight of stairs, there are torn playing cards and empty candy wrappers. This is a great place to hide; whether its from your parents or an attacking Berber tribe. The Glaoui Family made many enemies during their bloody reign. This incredible structure would have protected them from most of them; easy to defend, difficult to attack, and a view from the top that left nothing to question. I stand among the doves and the clouds and wonder.....how does something so beautiful come from such terror? I believe opulent castles all around the world, pose the same question. But right now I am enjoying the silver lining.
